I'm happy to report that the two mini-felines who were discarded in our ditch are now installed in their new cat-centric household, with two humans to see to their every whim. They have blossomed in every way while under the tender ministrations of Alison and are now happy, healthy and very much in favour of interaction with the human race. Their new humans emptied their bank account and have bought them every toy and accessory they could find. We're all very pleased to hear that the brothers will be together for life.
The woman has promised me my own cat and I just wish she'd hurry up. She says we will know when the right one comes along. Maybe she'll get me two. Or a baker's dozen. I plan to spend lots of time educating them and showing them all the important things felines need to know. Well, except for catching and dismembering rodents - they'll have to work that one out on their own.
The woman went away today to visit relatives - some nonsense to do with the festive season and while she was gone Doc helped me to prepare a surprise for her. I'm still quite annoyed at having been told off about my self-help plan to overcome my fear of shavings bags by ripping them all open. I was staring through the gate at the rows of bags that she had placed out of my reach when Doc came along and asked what I was doing. I explained my frustration at being denied the tools I need to conquer my phobia and he immediately offered to help. "Dood", he said, "ya just had ta ast me." With that he reached over the gate and by latching onto the keystone bag in the middle, he pulled over the whole pile. Then we went to work , ripping and pinching and puncturing until we had shavings and bits of plastic everywhere. I felt like a born-again donkey, in charge of my life and afraid no more of the crackling demons. We were so hard at work that we didn't see herself appear at the door. "WHAT.HAVE.YOU.DONE??" she bellowed. We exited hastily, leaving a churning mass of shavings in our wake. "Thank you so much for turning the run-in into a snow globe", she shrieked after us.
She became so embroiled in cleaning up after us that I'm sorry to say dinner was late. When I made a pathetic whuffling noise to indicate that I was light-headed from starvation, all she said was "you brought this on yourself, you conniving little donkey". Any festive spirit that she acquired today obviously wore off on the way home.